


Reunion

by agentsofthemcu (TheFallenArchangel)



Category: Zoo (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mentions of Nightmares, Reunions, season 3 predictions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9426992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenArchangel/pseuds/agentsofthemcu
Summary: "It is good to hear from you, Rafiki."The pause that follows those words is long and heavy."I'll see you soon." Is all Jackson says before the line goes dead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look I was salting about all the things Jackson went through only to end up alone in Africa and this happened.

No sooner has he ushered Clementine into the car, with the insistence that whatever message she has for him has waited ten years and therefore can wait until they get home, does his phone ring. He lets it go to voicemail once, not actually checking it until it immediately starts again, and it's as though the universe has decided that his days of domesticity are truly over, because it's Jackson.

"Jackson---" he greets, only to be cut off.

"Abe, have you heard anything from Clementine?" It's the first time he's heard his ~~brother's~~ _friend's_  voice in _months,_ and that added to his letter to Isaac makes this the most contact they've had in more than a year. He's not given much time to marvel at this though, as Jackson's plowing ahead, explanation rushed and words crashing into each other in what is clearly panic. "She just up and vanished, something about looking for Mitch I--- Abe I don't know where she is."

"Easy, Rafiki." Abraham chides carefully, eyes flicking to the rear-view mirror where he can see Clementine's eyes lock to his. To his left, he can feel D glued to him as well, as their son shows his Razorback claw to the non-listening Clem. "She is with me and Dariela, she decided to make a guest appearance to Isaac's graduation ceremony."

"Jesus christ I---" he can hear the heavy exhale, the relief, on the other end of the line, and if he tries, he can picture Jackson, shoulders loosening the slightest bit and jaw slackening, head bowing for a moment as if thanking a deity. "Keep her with you, alright, I'm going to catch a flight."

"I can do that." he replies, and he can. He thinks of Elizabeth Oz, of Chloe, of Robert, and with a twinge of guilt, he thinks that at least he can do this for his friend. "It is good to hear from you, Rafiki."

The pause that follows those words is long and heavy.

"I'll see you soon." Is all Jackson says before the line goes dead.

When he suggests that whatever news she has for him can wait until after Isaac has gone to bed, Clementine storms out of the living room, vanishing down the hallway that can't possibly be familiar to her, muttering under her breath in a very Mitch-like fashion about how the fate of the world is at stake, but _sure_ , they can wait for a kid's bedtime.

It takes him a few moments to find her, in the study that goes mostly unused, the entire room painted a soft purple from the sunset outside, staring at a line of photographs on the windowsil.

There's one of he and Jackson, half a decade before the prophecies of Robert Oz came to life, arms slung over each other on the very first tour they conducted after Jackson finished his degree. Next to it is the original team on the plane, minus himself as the photographer, Jackson's got an arm thrown across Chloe's shoulder as she smirks at Mitch, whose brow is furrowed --- much to Jamie's apparent delight. Next is a wedding photo, his and Dariela's, and beside it a first photo of one Isaac Kenyatta, 7 pounds, 5 ounces at birth.

She takes the frame of the plane photograph in hand, trails a finger over the smooth glass, lips turned downward and all the fight he'd seen in her gaze just a moment before softening and fading out.

"Uncle Jackson has this picture at home too." Her words are the only indication she knows he's there, hovering in the doorway, feeling like an intruder in his own home, like he's walked in on a private moment. He knows her mind is in Botswana, and he can see her there if she tries, trailing Jackson in the thick yellow grass, rifle in hand and blonde hair bleached almost white by the sun.

She smooths her forefinger over a face, and her lips twitch downwards from the almost wistful smile she'd carried just a moment ago. "He wasn't okay, you know?" He's unsure, for a moment, who she's talking about, although her father is the safest bet, though he doesn't get out a response before she clarifies.

"Aunt Jamie didn't stay long. A couple months, maybe. She said she had to go find the rest of the story or something. Had to make sure everyone knew the truth about dad's death. She always said she'd come back when it was done but..." she gestures vaguely to the bookshelf, though it doesn't contain a copy of Jamie Campbell's most recent novel, as if it explains everything.

"He wasn't okay for a long time." She looks up at him then, accusing gaze a more pitying version of what he remembers Mitch's to have been, and Abraham suddenly realizes that the  _"he"_ is not her father --- but instead Jackson. "He pretended he was, but... he had nightmares. Would wake up yelling for people. His parents. Chloe. Dad sometimes." Her eyes drop to the photo in her hands again. "I always pretended not to hear, and he'd always be smiling in the morning, checking the fences and making breakfast, asking how I'd slept."

She quiets for a minute, and then another, and he almost thinks she's done, before she continues. "He talked to them sometimes." The statement knocks the air from Abraham's chest and all he can do is gape, barely processing the sound of Dariela down the hall redirecting Isaac to the dining room before he can near the study. Clementine's head lowers, like she's embarrassed, and her words are less steady as she clarifies, "He'd tell dad how I was doing, that he'd be proud. Told Aunt Chloe he had no idea what he was doing and that she'd be laughing at how clueless he was. Never when I was around. Or when anyone else was around." She laughs quietly, "I think he was scared of sounding crazy. I didn't think it was crazy though. I talked to my mom and dad and stepdad, why would it be bad if he talked to his family?"

She looks up at him, and even in the dimming light, he can see the tears on the brink of spilling over. He thinks he should step forward and try to comfort her, but he doesn't dare. He doesn't know this girl, yes, she's still a child, and yes, it's his own fault, but she has no reason to seek comfort from him.

"I am sure he did his best." He tries instead, only to receive a look hard enough to make hardened criminals step back.

"He did. He took care of me. He taught me to take care of myself in this hell-in-a-handbasket world and not be scared." Her tone is defensive, angry, the way a child defends a parent and, he thinks, the comparison is not too far off the mark, apparently. "But he shouldn't have been left alone while you and Aunt Dariela," there, her voice is void of the warmth she'd used even discussing Chloe and Elizabeth and Robert, perfect strangers, "were playing _house_ and Aunt Jamie was getting famous."

It's a punch in the gut and for a moment Abraham is _angry,_ furious even, at the insinuation that he'd somehow pushed Jackson away or abandoned him, that Jackson's separation hadn't been entirely of his own volition. But then he remembers Jackson the week after they'd gotten the news that his father had killed himself those decades ago. He remembered how he'd drunk himself under the table, blaming and hating himself for something he couldn't have prevented even if it had been his responsibility to, always insisting he was fine, really --- and he realizes he shouldn't have trusted Jackson's insistence that he was okay any more than he should've the first time.

And yet, his most resounding thought, is how intensely Clementine sounds like her father, pulling no punches with the observations and decisions of blame she's made. "Your father would be so proud of you."

And just like that, the moment is broken. Her body goes rigid and her knuckles grip the picture frame too-tight as she all but slams it back into it's place. "My dad's not dead. If you'd listened to me, you'd know that."

* * *

 

She's spun her tale for him and Dariela several times, about how Mitch had escaped Pangea only to be coerced (somehow, she didn't know how) into working with a secret government organization nobody knew about to undo the forced sterilization, about how there had been numerous spottings of a man fitting MItch's description in several locations right before the military seized it for undisclosed testing, by the time there was a pounding on their door.

Barely more than 24 hours since his frantic voice had come through the phone, Jackson stands at Abraham's door. Ten years have done their work --- lines set more firmly around his eyes and mouth, deepened by exposure to the Serengeti sun, a scar from some unknown assault curving across his cheek and down the line of his jaw, dark fleshy pink in color, brown hair starting to be threaded through by silver.

What surprises him the most though are his eyes. Gone is the warm hazel, simultaneously tinged with laughter and deep hidden sadness. Instead, he see sees a cooler, sharper brown, intelligent and distrusting and nearly unreadable, more reminiscent of Robert Oz than he's ever seen.

Pulled out of his thoughts by Jackson shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny, he steps back to let him pass.

"Clementine?" He asks, and Abraham nods.

"She is in the dining room, telling Isaac all about the Razorbacks." His tone is light, airy, meant to spark some sort of conversation that used to come so easily, but it does no such thing, merely getting lost as his friend all but sprints towards the doorway. By the time he catches up, Clem has already rushed to meet him, burying herself in the embrace Jackson pulls her into.

"You scared me." He chides without heat, hand raised to cradle the back of her head, though she nearly matches him in height.

"Sorry Uncle Jackson." She sounds genuinely remorseful, if not for her actions than for having upset her guardian, though she's a few years now above legal age. "I just have to know if it's him or not. And if it is... he can save the world. I know it. And if it's not, we'll go back to hunting Razorbacks and trying to save it ourselves. I just have to know."  
She pulls back, looks up at Jackson, and he sees Rafiki fold before the man verbally confirm such a thing. It reminds Abraham of a lion conceding a piece of meat in a fight he knows will cost him his life.

"Alright. Alright."

It's as though a switch has been flipped. Dariela straightens from her place at the end of the dining room table, looks at him with that knitting together of her brow he knows to signal determination. Jackson finally lets Clementine pull away, straightens up and turns to face Abraham, while the girl looks between them all, torn between a sort of childish excitement and carefully controlled anticipation.

Abraham's tone is grim, though hopeful, as he nods. "It seems our days of trying to save the world are not as finished as we he hoped."


End file.
